


How deep should my needle go?

by stuckinabottle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, M/M, stupid!harry, unrealistic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:45:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4837463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuckinabottle/pseuds/stuckinabottle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Harry has a tattoo itch he can't scratch but finds someone who is more than willing to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How deep should my needle go?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whatwasthatharry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatwasthatharry/gifts).



> I apologize for the brevity of this fic. Originally it was meant to be a much longer story! Alas time got the best of me.  
> I want to thank my beta. :):) 
> 
> There were so many great choices for this I had a hard time deciding.

"That's the ugliest fucking design I've ever seen," Louis snorts, leaning over Harry's shoulder.

Harry frowns and stares down at the rough outline of a whale, well, it sort of looks like one he thinks. But if you turned it another way it could be a camera. Or maybe it's more of a cougar. He turns the napkin round a few more times before letting out a long sigh.

"You're right," he sighs morbidly. He can’t believe he’s agreeing with Louis. Harry runs a hand through his hair. It's gotten quite long as of late. He once straightened it and the longest bits reached his nipples. The top ones. Not the lower two ones. He doesn't think his hair will ever be that long. He’ll have to get it cut at that point.

"Cheer up Harry!" Niall laughs, knocking his shoulder into him before putting his arm around one of the girls they had picked up. She shimmies and shuffles into the crook under his arm. "You'll get it right eventually."

The pub is quite loud. It's almost twelve so it makes sense. People pouring into the Crown and Meriton just as the late night band goes on stage. Well band is a term that could be used to describe it. But it’s just a single guy in front of one of those weird computer dj type table things. Said guy is wearing a snapback and looks sort of out of place at the pub. He’s attractive as hell. There’s no doubt about that. But he looks like he rather belongs at an underground hip place. The sort of place that Harry would fit in at if he was wearing some of his see through shirts and wasn’t with Niall or Louis.

The guy is a great singer. His voice is surprisingly high and kind of sultry and Harry’s a little jealous that he isn’t a better singer. Harry looks back down at his tattoo design. Harry thinks he ought not to drink and draw. His art skills are pretty shitty already but this design needed to be had right then and there. Even if Louis was itching for a smoke and Niall was about to fuck the girls he had chatted up right then and there at the table.

"I think, you," Louis begins before taking a long swig of his pint, "Should worry more about getting plastered tonight, and less about your thigh tattoo design Harold." He pushes the napkin into a small puddle of beer that had earlier sloshed onto their pub table.

"You're a shit friend, you know that?" Harry whines. He grabs at the sopping wet napkin and takes a quick picture of it with his mobile. That will have to do.

"I'm a great friend. Bloody better than that dip shit moron you just dumped. Though, it’s hard to say if you were actually friends…”

Niall winces but Harry has no reaction. He knows. Craig was a dip shit moron and a loser on top of that. Louis seems to think he's funny and chuckles to himself, head bobbing to the bassline of the latest song. Harry could say something cruel and awful. But he actually like El. A lot. Besides he was the one who introduced the pair of them. So perhaps he feels slightly responsible for the whole situation. Somehow, a little tiny bit.

Louis salutes him and downs the rest of his drink. Then he hops up, fingering the cigarette behind his ear. He nods towards the door and Harry mouths 'Later you giant tosser'. Louis frowns but obliges. He's quite docile ever since he and El broke up a few months ago. At least Harry thinks so. He went a bit nuts for a while there, pulling girls and the occasional boy here and there, left and right. But he's kind of calmed down into a weird melancholy phase. They were together for nearly five years was it? Together is a loose term. Maybe on and off and on again is more appropriate.

Of course Harry himself probably had about twenty or even more girls and boys, men and women as his partners throughout that entire time. His number scared him for no reason. Soon he wouldn't have enough toes and fingers to count them on. He got quite busy now, didn't he?

He scans the pub lazily. No one really stands out to him at the moment. Other than the singer guy but he’s clearly not going to be done with his set for a while. Otherwise, it’s slim pickings. Not to be all judgmental or anything, Harry thinks a few drinks might change that. He's just not loose enough yet.

Niall's already bloody got his hand up the girl's skirt he thinks. She's licking the shell of his ear and Harry chuckles to himself. Ever the lady's man. Harry shakes his head and locks eyes with this dark haired bloke across the room. His hair is quite short at the sides but long on the top. Harry licks his lips and downs a shot, trying his best to not lose eye contact with the bloke the entire time. He's pretty positive this guy is down to fuck, if the glint in his eye is anything to go by. 

The best part about break ups, of course, are the rebound fucks. And Harry is pretty sure he is a serial dater because of that. There is something massively satisfying about fucking the brains out of someone who knows that they will never likely touch you again. And they're all gentle and kind because you're apparently damaged goods, emotionally unavailable and all. Harry absolutely loves it. Gets off on it very nicely obviously. Harry's weird like that he supposes.

And there is also the tattoos. Harry's always been one to treat himself, but the tattoos after a break up are quite possibly better than rebound sex. The thrill of the needle pressing into his skin. Especially when his ex had hated when he got more and more ink, something like justice surged through his veins when he would get a new tattoo. It was like opening a new chapter in his life. Fresh start.

He presses his palms against the sticky of the table and pushes through a thong of pub goers, not sparing a glance at Niall who is for sure fingering the girl at this rate.

..

Waking up in a stranger's bed, or with a stranger in your bed, it's always a doozy. At least Harry has always thought so. He sleeps like the dead so he tends to be somewhat disoriented when he wakes, flailing and throwing limbs. The dark haired bloke is a snorer that's for sure, Harry is glad he slept over at the bloke's flat and not the other way around so he can make his exit painlessly. This bloke has got this sick tattoo running over his right shoulder blade. It's not in color, just black ink, but there's something startling about it. The design is a bit weak however the lines are the cleanest he's ever seen. He studies it for a moment in the morning sun light. There's a scratch or two running through it, Harry's doing. But otherwise the piece is seamless.

He almost wants to wait and wake the bloke up just to ask him where he got the tattoo and who was the artist who bestowed such a beautiful creation on to him. Harry wrinkles his nose. On second thought, maybe not. The dark haired bloke is less than appetizing looking sprawled out on the bed, drool dripping out of the side of his mouth. Harry sneaks out of the bed and tries to make as little noise as possible. He licks his lips, they're quite dry. With a final crack of his back he puts his clothes on and heads out.

Turns out he doesn't have to wonder for long. Right across the street from the bloke's apartment is a dodgy looking tattoo parlor. Harry's not sure what the name of the place is, since the sign is written in Arabic script. Underneath it just says tattoo. The shop doesn't look open. But Harry can see pictures of the tattoos inked by the shop artists in the dim and dusty window. One of them is the same one he was just staring at that morning. The dark haired bloke's.

The sign says the shop's open. So Harry presses inside. A small bell dings when he does so. Harry's surprised at how clean and tidy the place is. The floor is black and white checkered linoleum. There are a few mystery stains but other than that the place seems alright. A guy who is maybe the same height as Harry is, well without his heeled boots that is, is sweeping up. He's buff is all Harry can think. He'd love to see the guy's arm muscles ripple as he holds Harry down. Or maybe see him fall apart if Harry were to fuck him. He shakes his head to clear the thoughts. A bit too early and he's not even actually in the mood. His arse is still a bit sore.

The guy waves and Harry admires the four sleek chevrons going up his one muscled forearms. "Hello," the guy says as greeting. "Name's Liam. How are you doing? Do you fancy a tattoo then?" Liam eyes him up and down, taking in his visible tattoos in. "See you've got quite a few already. Interesting collection."

"Yeah. Definitely. I'm probably a junky." Harry shrugs and tugs at the collar of his shirt. It's not too comfortable wearing the previous night’s clothes. He knows his hair must look like absolute shite. "So what's the name of this place..." Harry motions to the sign outside.

"Oh, haha. Right, it's Malik Tattoo. Err like King Tattoo. At least that's what I'm told. I don't read or write Arabic, obviously. It's my mate's shop."

"Is he the one who's done that design there?" Harry asks. He points to the tattoo that clearly belonged to his last night’s stand. "It's really really good. I saw it and I really wanted to know who did it... Is that creepy?"

"Yes, he's bloody amazing! Best tattooist I have ever seen. And I'm not just saying that because I work here. Not creepy at all. He's like the best tattoo artist I've ever met. He's not in today, well not yet any who. Why don't we set up a consultation!" Liam exclaims. He's like a puppy Harry thinks. His smile is wide and his brown eyes are open big. "Well only if you like."

"Yeah, I'd like that."

Liam continues chattering about how talented his mate is and how he sings as well and is basically perfect. Then he talks about his girlfriend for another age while Harry inspects his nails and makes small talk. That’s what he’s good at apparently.

..

Harry ends up bringing Louis with him for the consultation because Louis loves tattoos and won't leave the house for much if Harry or Niall doesn't drag him out. Besides Niall won't have any of it. He would just shake his head and laugh. Plus Harry feels like it's necessary to get Louis out of the house and to stop him moping as much as possible. And maybe Harry thinks that Louis might rather like the Liam guy. 

Harry never thought he'd live with uni mates past uni, but he's nearly twenty four and the roommates are still going well. Harry reckons it's a product of the three of them being like a well oiled machine. They just fit. Niall is mellow and seems to balance Louis out and he's got this uncanny ability to tolerate Harry's weird. And of course Louis and Harry have had their moments at odd, but they always end up coming round. It didn't hurt that Louis basically lived with El at her flat for the past few years.

Harry's prediction was correct. Louis eyes Liam hungrily when they enter the shop. Today Liam's got on a tight black tank and skinny jeans. There's a thin sheen of sweat over his entire body. Somehow the black tank makes his muscles stand out even more than they did the first day. Harry nudges Louis. And Louis elbows him hard in the ribs.

"Hey there. Good to see you again. He'll be right out. Just finishing up with another patron," Liam offers.

"So, Liam, do you do tattoos as well?" Louis looks like he's about to eat him on the spot. Harry is amused. He almost doesn’t want to let Louis know that Liam has a girlfriend, one that he’s very much enamored by.

Liam either doesn't notice or doesn't care. But he nods at Louis with one of those giant smiles. So puppy like Harry thinks.

Harry's not quite sure what's going on but Louis is having some sort of weird staring contest with Liam. So he goes over to the waiting area and sits down. He's nervous for some reason. He has no idea why either. He's made some poor tattoo decisions in the past, and now that he's older he only hopes his judgement is better. Plus going to a new artist always freaks him out.

"Harry Styles?" A voice calls. It's honey, that's all Harry can think. Honey over warm apple pie and vanilla ice cream. And Harry could take a fucking bath in it. If that were possible. And it’s really fucking familiar.

Harry looks up and sees the most beautiful person he's ever seen in his entire life. It doesn't make sense. Well, it shouldn't. The guy's got short hair, buzzed nearly to his scalp. It's not quite a normal color either. It's like a deep purple, Harry's not quite sure. He's too distracted by the unrealistically long eyelashes and the cheekbones that could cut diamond and the scruff. Not to mention the fact that he has a golden glow to his skin, sun kissed and absolutely beautiful. There's something about his aura that radiates cool and automatically makes Harry feel unworthy.

Harry realizes that he’s the singer from the pub. But he’s so much more enthralling up close. Like he was godly on stage and now he’s even more so. Harry couldn’t catch the details from afar and through the haze of his drunkeness and stupidity. He somewhat regrets taking that other bloke to bed. Maybe he should have tried for him instead.

"Uhh," Harry's jaw must have hit the floor and stayed there. He can't even think. He must come to standing somehow because soon Louis's right beside him.

Louis elbows him in the back. "This is our dear Harry." Louis says, shoving him forward. Harry nearly trips over his boots, but Louis's got him by the back of his shirt. The wanker is not as douche baggeryish as he likes to pretend.

Malik looks completely nonplussed, gives Harry a noncommittal once over and nods for him to follow. Harry does so, feels like he's being pulled by some new gravitational force. Malik's got this plaid shirt with the sleeves cut off underneath his apron. His right arm has got a full sleeve. The shop is really quite nice behind the curtain of the front desk. There are even individual consultation and inking rooms in addition to the few public chairs, which Harry thinks is neat.

Malik tuts and Harry sits down in a chair. "So, Harry. Liam tells me you rather liked my designs." Malik's voice is not that deep but somehow it's quite velvety. It’s not too similar to his singing voice, but just as nice.

"Erm, yes! I saw one on an actual person once and I just. It was so clean. And I've been meaning to get a new one for a while, but..." Harry thinks he must babble for five minutes at least. But Malik is listening, nodding on occasion, his earrings glinting in the artificial lighting. Harry didn't notice earlier but the guy has a nose piercing in addition to the three or four in each ear.

He's proper what a tattoo artist in a romantic comedy should look like. Harry's pretty sure he's not ever even been so attracted to someone with no hair, well minimal hair. He wants to rub his hands all over the guy’s buzz cut and feel it on his inner thighs. Malik must think him stupid because he's hardly said anything. Harry's sort of at a loss for words. His mouth just isn't quite connected to his brain.

"So..." Malik coughs.

"Right sorry! I'm a bit of a space cadet sometimes. My mum used to say I live on my own planet. I guess I just," Harry babbles. He fumbles with his phone attempting to get it out of his jeans pocket as best he can. "I've just got a little mock up...." He ends up flinging his phone across the room and it bounces off some metal cabinet.

Malik bends over and picks it up. Harry stifles his gasp with a cough. Malik's arse is tiny but Harry just desperately wants to squeeze it for no reason. Harry had always known he objectified others to the extreme, but he couldn't help it. He really appreciated the human form in all shapes and sizes.

Malik has this amused grin on his face when he gingerly hands the phone back to Harry. And when their fingers brush it's like touching a live wire. Harry luckily manages to not drop the damned thing again. "I'm Zayn by the way," he says, before grabbing a pad of paper and removing the pen from tucked behind his ear.

"Oh gosh. I thought you were just called Malik! Is that your last name then?"

"Yes," Zayn smirks, "This shop I refurbed after my master, em, the woman I did my apprenticeship under retired. Been mine for about three years now. Renamed it last year, yeah."

"Wow!" Harry briefly thinks about what he's done in the past three years. Nothing much. Harry scrolls to the blurry photo on his phone. "M'not a very good drawer. But it's sort of something like this?"

Zayn doesn't comment on his crap drawing skills. He just stares at the phone with a stillness Harry didn't know anyone possessed. "Is that meant to be a whale?"

Harry nods furiously, his curls bouncing up and down. "Yeah! Exactly. I dunno just seemed like a cool thing to have. And I want it right here." He points to his left thigh. There's an old tattoo that he also wants to cover. It says 'Brazil!' and he has no clue why he even got it in the first place. He’s never even been to Brazil. "And I probably want it like this big?" Harry makes a circle with his thumbs and forefingers on the top of his thigh.

Zayn nods and scribbles something down. "I'm just gonna do a quick mock up, yeah? Then we can go from there." He bites his lip in concentration. "You've got some tattoos from what I can tell, so you know the drill. I'm happy to remind you, however you've got quite a few." Harry blushes as Zayn studies the tattoos Harry has on display. Which are quite a few. He doesn't wear low cut shirts for nothing. "Anyways, I reckon this piece will be nice to do."

"Really?"

"Yeah, the design is not too shabby now, is it?" Zayn smirks, continuing to sketch lightly on the paper.

Zayn is silent for a few more minutes. And Harry just stares at the casual flicks of his wrist, the sketching movement with his pencil. Occasionally Zayn looks up, not at Harry or anything really. Just into the air. His eyes wide and sometimes narrowed, regardless they glow hazel and golden in the fluorescent lighting. It really doesn't seem fair that someone could be so beautiful Harry thinks.

"So?" Zayn holds up the pad of paper. And there it is. There is Harry's new tattoo.

“It’s perfect,” says Harry in awe. Though it is only pencil upon paper, it has really come to life. “Really lovely.” He holds the paper carefully between his thumbs and forefingers.

“Right then,” Zayn runs a hair over his buzzed head, “Shall we get you an appointment for this to get done? I reckon it’ll take a few hours at the most. I like to take my time.”

Harry ends up getting a small doodad on his wrist that day. Just the letter A for his mum. It’s fleeting and stupid. But he wasn’t quite ready to leave the shop. There was something so calming about Zayn’s presence. Zayn’s quick and efficient about it. And he doesn’t question the design choice nor did he make any comments on the rest of Harry’s tattoos.

At the end Zayn wraps the tattoo gently. His nails are long and clean, three of his nails have chipped black nail polish. Harry feels pleasantly buzzed when he lives the store. He's excited.

..

It’s about a week later. Harry’s decided to push back getting his thigh piece done a bit. He’s kind of nervous to commit to something that large on his thigh. Especially since his desire to get one was more on a whim after seeing Zayn's work. Harry’s not really sure how the thigh tattoo will change things, like he’s still got a bloody ton on his arms. But he of course is still not totally sold on his original drunken sketch.

It’s Wednesday afternoon. Harry’s itching to do something. So he goes for a walk and of course finds himself by Zayn’s little tattoo shop. There’s a few people inside that day. A brunette with dark red lippie on and heels is sat right behind the corner. This must be the girlfriend that Liam wouldn’t stop talking about. She looks pissed or like she smells something rancid.

“You have an appointment?” she asks, raising a brow. She brushes a lock of her hair out of face. Her eyes are bright and green. She’s really very pretty despite the sour expression on her face.

“No, he doesn’t need one,” calls a voice from behind the curtain. Zayn pushes past from the back room into the storefront. He’s got a cigarette behind his ear and he still has a buzzcut but now it’s blonde. Which is surprisingly amazing. Harry doesn’t think he’d ever be able to pull off another shade, let alone blonde. It’s definitely a bold move. “I’ll take care of him myself.”

Zayn gives him a bright grin and Harry follows him into the regular room he inks. tattoos in. Zayn is talking about his new puppy that he adopted, Rhino. Harry sits in the chair and squirms til he feels settled. He loves to watch Zayn as he talks. His face is so animated. Eyes bright, licking his lips every so often. Harry seriously wonders if Zayn knows how much his every move affects Harry.

"So what do you want today then, Harry?" Zayn's plump lips are curved into a small smile. 

'You' is what Harry thinks, but stops himself short. That would be embarrassing. "Umm, I'm thinking of getting a rose, like right here-ish?" Harry finally manages to say, pointing to the area of empty skin on his left elbow.

"Like my lotus?" Zayn raises his own forearm. There's a lotus that sits by his elbow. "It's a pretty good spot for floral pieces if you ask me." Zayn waggles his eyebrows. Harry swallows. He must have subconsciously projected or something.

"Erm, yeah! That looks proper amazing. I bet you designed it yourself. You're really artistic aren't you?"

"Ah yes, it's what my parents always feared," Zayn chuckles as he snaps a pair of gloves on. "And yeah, I designed this and had Liam ink it actually."

Harry can hardly pay attention to what Zayn's saying. He is too enamored by the minute ways that his lips quirk or how the skin around his eyes crinkle when he laughs. He doesn't even realize the inking has begun until he forces himself to look away from Zayn's face and down to his forearm. Zayn’s grip on his arm is gentle. And Harry’s not even sure he really needs to be steadying his forearm like that. His fingers casually brush against the skin on his inner forearm every so often. Purely accidental Harry thinks. But Harry can’t say he minds the warm pressure that Zayn’s giving his forearm.

“Do you play often at the Meriton and Crown?”

“Have you seen me then?” Zayn asks. Harry can see the hint of a grin on Zayn’s lips. He’s still inking the rose and his voice is quiet against the buzz of the tattooing needle.

“Erm, yeah,” Harry mumbles, “I saw you once or twice.” He’s not going to lie. He’s looked at the pub’s performer’s schedule. He lurks in the back when Zayn plays. Because, let’s be honest, it’s refreshing music and Harry’s got nothing better to do does he?

“Yeah, I mean it’s not really my scene so much. But I do love to perform.”

“You’re really really good,” Harry blurts out. It’s true. “I would totally get something of yours. I mean like...you have such a beautiful voice.”

Zayn flushes a little, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Thanks. I’m not so sure it would be a suitable back up to this gig though. And I definitely like doing both.”

“What do you do Harry?”

“I’m in between things right now,” Harry says, “I just graduated uni a few months ago and I’m trying to figure out what I want to do with my life you know? It’s definitely something I wish I had focused on earlier. My parents are being pretty good about it though…”

“Well, as long as you’re happy,” Zayn says, “Happiness is more important I think. I suppose being able to feed yourself as well is good. But it sounds like your parents are cool. I wouldn’t worry too much. I puttered around a bit before I got into tattooing.”

“You think so?” Harry feels reassured despite only really meeting Zayn one other time. It’s kind of strange he thinks. Taking advice from essentially a stranger. But he’s way kinder and more understanding than either Louis or Niall. After all, Louis’s been a member of the real world for far longer than either him and Niall. And Niall’s had a gig set up for him since the summer before their last year at uni.

..

The day that Harry’s meant to get his thigh inked he wakes in a cold sweat. It had been a while since Harry had gotten a tattoo, of that size at least. He's pretty sure he's not ever had one this large before. His ferns are large in their own ways, but there's two of them and that seems like ages ago. He’s also a bit nervous that he’ll jump Zayn in the middle of the inking. So he rubs one out before leaving. It’s fast and he’s mortified at how quickly he comes thinking about Zayn’s lips and the scratch of his beard.

Then of course he has the luck to he walk in on Louis and his new paramore in the fucking shower of all places, fucking. He should say paramores. Since there’s three people currently in their shower. Harry’s a little shocked at the third person but even more so when he sees four chevrons along the arm that is gripping the side of his very nice bathtub. The other figure must have been the girlfriend. Harry didn’t peg Liam and his girlfriend to be that adventurous. He scurries out as fast as humanly possible, perhaps Harrily possible is a better term, since he nearly trips over a random rubber duck and manages to brain himself on a shelf in the bathroom.

Harry's head is spinning and he reckons he smells like shit and unwashed sex when he shows up at Malik Tattoo. After all he didn't get the chance to shower. Zayn is sitting behind the front desk when he gets there. Well Harry has to take a double take because today his hair is bright green. Harry knows he shouldn't like it. But he does for some reason. He really fucking does. It's like a giant tennis ball and Harry likes tennis.

"Silver?!" He points at Zayn's head. His hair has grown substantially longer since Harry had last come into the shop.

Zayn chuckles, his eyes crinkling up around the corners. "Yes, I like to mix it up. You should have seen it last week. I had it green. It’s my favorite color."

Today Zayn's wearing a loose black tank and black jeans that have rips going up the front. Looks like a proper goth rebel. Zayn has a ring in his nose today. It's small and perfect. Harry's jealous of how stylish he is.

"So, ready then?" Zayn motions for Harry to follow him. Harry does and Zayn leads him into the same room in which they'd had the consultation. This time the chair is arranged and there's a needle and some inks lined up on a small tray. Zayn puts a pair of bright red gloves on. "So, I hope you're wearing boxer briefs, Harry. Because boxers are gonna be a pain to work with, if you want the tattoo up that high. I've got some like things you could put on if you like of course..."

He trails off since Harry's pulled his jeans down in a flourish. "All set," Harry's wearing a pair of tight y fronts with a banana pattern on it.

"So, over the Brazil then?" Zayn asks. His voice doesn't betray anything but he's grinning.

"Yes please." Harry plops into the chair and scooches so his back is all the way against the seat back.

"I'm gonna shave the area, yeah?" Zayn spreads some kind of weird clear gel all over Harry’s thigh. Harry nods. He hisses when the it first hits his upper thigh. It's cold as fuck. Zayn's hand is firm on his other thigh as he spreads the gel onto the top portion of Harry's left thigh. "Not really too much hair here," he murmurs once he's taken the first swipe of a proper old fashioned razor over Harry's thigh. Harry’s afraid he’s gonna budge and get cut in the thigh. How embarrassing that would be.

Harry's glad his pants are quite tight since the gentle pressure of Zayn's fingers on the delicate skin of is inner thighs is quite delicious. Harry might have imagined it but he can feel one of Zayn's pinkies stroke like a whisper one centimeter from his underwear band. Harry does a full body shiver.

"Cold?" Zayn asks, all innocent and wide eyed.

"No! I mean. Nope I'm all good."

"Good," Zayn says. He's all done with the razor now. He chucks it and grabs a towel to mop Harry up. Then he sprays the area with disinfectant. And a few other things. Harry's thigh is starting to feel super sensitized, every touch, each spray of liquid. "Ready? Do you need anything, or are you good with the pain?"

Harry nods and scratches at his nose.  Zayn's perched essentially between his legs and take making it very difficult to concentrate since he's all hot and gorgeous and perfect. Plus Harry's had the opportunity to get a better look at Zayn's sleeve. There's a lot going on. Harry spies a matching Pink Floyd tattoo and a few random skulls. There's also wings that peek out from the top of Zayn's tank. A tantalizing hint. Harry's so busy focusing on Zayn he almost jumps out of his skin at the first touch of the needle to his skin.

"Ah!" Harry gasps. The buzz of the needle is a low murmur as it pierces into the skin of Harry's thigh. Zayn looks like he's grinning a bit. His pink tongue peeking out slightly.

“So, is the shop pretty busy normally?” Harry asks. He’s normally better at small talk, but he’s kind of trying not to get a massive hard on at the moment.

“Yeah, definitely in the summer more,” Zayn says, “It helps that Liam and I both draw in different clientele I suppose. Plus the heat makes people want tattoos. I don’t know what it is.”

“So who does your tattoos then?” Harry asks staring at the ceiling. He’s definitely sporting a semi right now.

“Well, some of them are from Liam, but I also got most of mine from my mentor…” Harry’s not a great listener at the moment. He’s trying to hard to not moan and also not to buck out of the chair and start dry humping Zayn.

"Alright, yeah?" Zayn looks up at Harry through the thick of his eyelashes. Harry had sort of stopped randomly in the middle of their conversation. Harry nods furiously and grips at the armrests tightly. It burns so good, it always does. Zayn's grip on his right thigh is firm. And he tightens it whenever the needle travels closer to his inner thigh, the more sensitive parts, for which Harry is grateful.

Harry doesn't know how much time passes, but soon Zayn is sitting up straight and cracking his neck. Harry's thigh is blotching red around the area. Harry's pretty fucking hard right now. It happens when he gets tattoos. His erection is pressed up against his stomach and for once in his life Harry is glad to be wearing a shirt. If Zayn notices Harry's insistent hard on, he doesn't mention it.

“How are you doing?” Zayn asks after some time. He wipes the sweat off his brow with his forearm. The piece is coming along well. The outline is completely finished and it looks as if Zayn is about to start in on filling in the rest of the design. Harry's sure he'll pass out soon from sheer restraint. He's never wanted to jump someone so badly in his entire life. He sucks a deep breathe in. And let's it out slowly. "Are you in pain?" Zayn looks concerned. 

“Uh,” Harry chokes out, “No. I'm good. It's, everything is...I’m fine.” Though he’s clearly not. His erection is definitely leaking through his pants and all over his shirt. Harry’s not so sure he can pass that off as sweat. It’s not even warm in the room. In fact, it’s kind of cool, Harry’s nipples are definitely poking through his shirt. He must look flushed and stupid. At least he's glad he's not wearing that white see through shirt. That would have been an absolute disaster.

Zayn seems to pay him no mind. There’s no indication that he even recognizes that what he’s currently doing to Harry. And that just makes Harry all the more aroused. There’s something sort of naughty about it.

And then after another expansive stretch of time passes, the tattoo is completely finished. The blank ink shines against the reddening skin of Harry’s thigh. Harry hisses at the final draw of the needle on his oversensitized and tender skin.

"So, you know, don't touch it or anything," Zayn says as he covers the tattoo and Harry’s thigh in saran wrap. His hands are gentle, barely a feather's touch. His fingers skirt over the edge of Harry's pants. Harry holds his breath. It was definitely an accident. Completely not on purpose. But Zayn's biting his lip and Harry wants to bite it as well. Worry it between his teeth and suck on it for days.

“Thank you,” Harry’s voice comes out strangled. His cock is amazingly still hard and he’s aching to rub one out as soon as humanly possible. Zayn’s continued close proximity is no help.

“Of course,” Zayn claps a hand over his shoulder, his eyes flick over Harry’s body briefly but don’t linger. Harry exhales when Zayn turns away and grinds the heel of his palm into his cock. The pressure if only slightly relieving. “You know what,” Zayn turns around, a pensive and yet inscrutable expression on his face. It’s extremely clear that Harry is touching himself.

“I just wanted to do one more thing,” Zayn mumbles, his eyes hooded. He approaches Harry. There’s something predatory about it, like a panther or something stalking towards it’s prey. As if in slow motion Zayn sinks to his knees in front of Harry. His fingers skirt around the edge of the saran wrap and Harry holds his breath. The skin is still tender, and sensitive. Zayn’s finger tips slide against his inner thigh and Harry lets out a pitiful whimper.

And that’s when it happens. Zayn looks Harry straight in the eye and his deft fingers trail on the line of Harry’s pants again. This time it’s very clear that is no accident. “What do we have here?” Zayn murmurs. His fingers brush against the line of Harry’s cock. “Do you get hard every time you get a tattoo or is it just me?” Zayn asks, stroking his index finger down Harry’s shaft.

“It’s definitely you,” Harry says, “What are you going to do about it?”

Zayn grins and it’s unlike any other one. There’s something cocky and undeniably filthy about it. Zayn leans down and noses into Harry’s pants as if it’s something he’s done a million times before. “You smell nice.” He rubs the scruff of his beard along Zayn’s thigh, careful not to press to hard around the freshly inked tattoo.

“Honestly,” Harry groans. He grabs Zayn’s face between his hands and drags him up to kiss him. They end up clacking their teeth together at first causing Harry to laugh into their first kiss. “Fuck,” he hisses as Zayn finally shoves a hand into Harry’s pants. His hand seems skillful as it navigates Harry’s cock.

“Clothes off,” Harry whines. And Zayn obliges. He stands up for a moment and shucks his shirt off. Then his belt, and Zayn humorously shimmies out of his jeans to reveal that he wasn’t wearing any pants. And also that his cock is perfect. He’s still got his jeans around his Doc Martens but Harry’s doesn’t give a fuck. He rips his own shirt off and scrambles to take his pants off without disturbing his tattoo.

Harry directs Zayn to have a sit in the chair. He does so naked. He looks like a royal somehow, a king on his throne. Harry wants to bow and in some way he does, dropping to his knees. He takes Zayn into his hand and sighs. “I’ve been thinking about this since I first met you,” Zayn huffs as Harry wraps his lips around the tip of his cock.

“What? Fucking me in your tattoo parlor?” Harry pulls off for a moment, rubbing precome and the tip of Zayn’s cock all over his cheek.

“Fucking you in general.”

“Why don’t we get to it then?” Harry swallows down Zayn, savoring the taste of him in his mouth. He hums around Zayn’s cock happily. He can’t believe his luck. And that this all happened today.

“You gonna ride me like a good boy, Harry?” Zayn asks. There’s something in his tone that sends chills through Harry’s body. Not to mention logistically it seems a good way to not damage his new tattoo. He produces a condom from nowhere. Harry is too horny to question it.

Zayn slaps his ass, and then his fingers trail to the cleft of Harry’s arse and over his hole. Harry may have masturbated this morning with his trusted dildo, so his hole is lubed and a bit loosened up. Zayn’s eyebrows go up in surprise. Zayn inserts two fingers with ease, and quickly presses them against Harry’s prostate for a the briefest of moments before pulling them out again and teasing the rim of his arsehole.

“Just fuck me already,” Harry breathes out, “I can take it.”   
  


“Impatient are we?” Zayn chuckles. He rolls the condom on. And then his hands guide Harry’s hips so that he can lowering onto Zayn’s waiting cock. And Harry does, the burn and stretch of his hole is pleasant. And Zayn really is perfect. He licks his way into Harry’s mouth again and Harry begins to move, shifting his hips forward and back, testing the waters a bit.

Harry soon gets into more of a rhythm, thighs straining slightly as he raises himself to fuck himself on Zayn’s cock. “You’re so hot,” Harry pants, running his hands through Zayn’s silver hair. It’s soft to the touch.

Zayn’s got a hand on Harry’s cock, stroking in earnest and then Harry’s spilling all over his and Zayn’s abdomens. Zayn is quick to follow, his strokes are more erratic and finally with one final thrust he bites down on the juncture between Harry’s neck and shoulder and finishes.

They sit for a moment sated and exhausted. Harry wrinkles his nose. There’s cooling come all over the both of them. “That’s not very sanitary,” he mumbles.

“I’m going to have to burn this room,” Zayn laughs.

“Probably.” They detach and clean themselves off. There’s certainly no shortage of antiseptics in the room.

“Why don’t we go up front then?” Zayn asks once they are both fully clothed and less disheveled. Harry even finger combed his hair. Harry feels weird about paying, but he did just get a tattoo. He tips big. And feels somewhat sad as he turns to leave the shop. But before he does Zayn stops him.

“I just wanted to let you know, I don’t do that on the regular.” He seems sheepish and a bit embarrassed. “I don’t know. I didn’t even think you’d really be into all this, but here.” He gives Harry a business card, which is weird. Because Harry definitely knows where the shop is at this place.

“See you around.”

It isn’t until Harry’s outside that he sees a number and a short message that’s written on the back of the card:

_“Harry, I hope you can cum again soon ;) aha xx_

_~Zayn”_


End file.
